


the best-laid plans

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Canon Disabled Character, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Family, Family Fluff, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “Got some bad news.”“Don’t say it,” Richie groans.Eddie just talks right over him, saying, “We’ll have to cancel dinner,” but Richie moans even louder thanthat,drowning Eddie out.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 124
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	the best-laid plans

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a c*mmission but it went horribly awry and the plot got away from me, and i wasn't even gonna post it at all but my friends are too supportive of even my most smoothbrained of indulgences, and so i decided to share this anyways 💕

Richie can hear the phone ringing in the living room, but he’s got his hands full. He’s sure Eddie will get it.

In the next moment, he hears the phone click off the receiver. Eddie’s soft voice asks, “Hello?” and then, happily, “Oh, hello, Marnie.”

Their babysitter. Richie refocuses entirely on Casey. The kid’s been agitated all day, refusing to sleep for longer than twenty minutes total, and it’s just been— it’s just been a _long_ day. He knew being the one who stayed home most of the time with a baby who’s not even a year old yet would be rough. He _knew_ that. It’s just exhausting in practice.

Casey kicks his hand.

“What?” Richie asks. His son just stares up at him. The day can’t come soon enough that the two of them can communicate through actual language.

Richie pushes himself up from the glider in Casey’s room. It takes a second, but he manages it without dislodging Casey where he’s pressed against his chest. Casey squeaks, turning his face into Richie’s chest. Richie knows that sound, and he’s getting frustrated again. He can tell by the pitch of it. Sometimes, he thinks about how _crazy_ shit like that is, that he can communicate with his son — kind of — just by registering the pitches and tones of his voice when he cries and other nonsense like that.

He doesn’t have a lot of experience with the whole thing, but he likes to think he’s mildly good at it. Still, though. Could use a break.

“Oh, no, honey, don’t apologize,” Eddie says down the hall. Richie kicks the door most of the way open with his heel so he can stick his head out into the hallway. He hears Eddie say, “No, no trouble. Tell your mother that if she needs anything, we’re here. Okay. Good luck, honey.” The phone clicks back onto the receiver. Richie’s already dreading what he’s sure Eddie’s about to say.

Casey whines softly, complaining about something. Richie looks down to find him with both fists in his mouth, so he tugs them out to replace then with his own fingers. He can feel Casey start chewing on his wedding ring in seconds; one of his favorite toys, horrifyingly enough.

“Richie,” Eddie calls. He’s only two steps from the living room; when Eddie hears the floorboards creak underneath him, he jumps, clutching his chest as he whirls. “Holy— Don’t sneak _up_ on me, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Usually you’re telling me how obnoxiously loud I am, stompin’ around the house,” Richie comments. He leans in the doorframe. “What’d Marnie want?”

Eddie beckons for Casey, so Richie hands him over easy, passing him right into Eddie’s waiting arm. Casey’s upset at being displaced, for a minute, but he gets over it quick. Richie’s starting to speculate that Casey’s got a favorite, and it’s not him. He gets it; he’s hard to spend twenty-four hours with, seven days a week.

“Her grandmother’s in the hospital, her mother just drove her in but it means she has to stay home with her sisters while she waits for news,” Eddie explains. “They believe she had a heart attack.”

“Old Mrs. Mackey?” Richie asks. At Eddie’s nod, he says, “Aw, well, that’s too bad. Hopefully she pulls through.”

“I’m sure everything will be okay,” Eddie says, tipping Casey carefully into the almost-crook of what remains of his left arm. He strokes back the curls Richie spent half an hour today unsuccessfully trying to comb.

“He doesn’t understand the power of positive thinking, if that’s what you mean,” Richie reminds him. “He won’t know if you tell me Mrs. Mackey’s going to die.”

“He knows enough,” Eddie says. He looks up to Richie and says, over the tops of his glasses, “Besides, we don’t know anything will happen to her. There’s no point thinking like that.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Richie comments. Eddie scowls at him, looking back down to Casey. The look isn’t entirely playful, so Richie adds on, “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

Eddie nods. When he lifts his head again, though, he’s got a little bit more of a smile. “I’ll forgive you this once, I suppose.”

“You _suppose,”_ Richie says. He steps closer, catches Eddie around the waist; Eddie playfully squirms away, laughing. Richie just nuzzles closer, burying his face into Eddie’s throat, at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. “You _suppose,_ just this _once,_ do you?”

“I do,” Eddie replies.

 _“I_ do,” Richie says. He slides his hand up Eddie’s side, making him wriggle closer again with laughter, until his hand is cupping Eddie’s face, his wedding ring tapping into the hard line of his handsome jaw. “Guess we’re married now, huh?”

“I’m going to lose track of all our anniversaries if you keep that joke up,” Eddie teases him. Richie presses a smacking kiss to the soft skin of his throat. “Got some bad news.”

“Don’t say it,” Richie groans.

Eddie just talks right over him, saying, “We’ll have to cancel dinner,” but Richie moans even louder than _that,_ drowning Eddie out until Casey starts fussing at him.

“See, look, even Casey’s upset,” Richie points out.

“He’s upset because you sound like a dying whale,” Eddie replies. “It’s not Marnie’s fault, things happen. We’ll just have to go out another night.”

“Eddie, if you keep me inside this apartment for one more day, I’m going to start scratching the paint off the walls,” Richie tells him. “I’m serious. I need to get out of the house for a _minute,_ Eds, just a _little_ while. Isn’t there anybody else we can call? _Anybody?”_

Eddie’s quiet, for a moment. When Casey squeaks, frustrated again, he starts bouncing without even thinking about it, instinctively rocking him back and forth while Richie clings to him, draped along Eddie’s back. As the baby quiets down, Eddie says, “I can’t think of anyone, Richie. Maybe we should just—”

“Please don’t say postpone,” Richie begs him. _“Please._ I’ll do anything, Eds, I—”

“I was _going_ to say,” Eddie cuts him off, “I think, well. Maybe we should just bring him along.”

Richie pulls back to turn Eddie by the shoulders, looking to him like he’s insane. For all Richie knows, he just might be. Suggesting bringing this kid anywhere with the phase he’s going through is _bonkers,_ in his own humble opinion.

“You’re not serious,” Richie says, more statement than question.

“Why not?” Eddie asks.

“Eds, don’t get me wrong,” Richie says, “I love him, he’s great, he’s the light of my life, but you’re not the one who’s here with him all day. He can’t go five minutes right now without trying to tear either my hair out or his. He screams if his mouth hurts, and he’s got teeth tearing through his gums right now, so it sounds like it really does hurt, and there’s not all that much we can do about that. He’s not exactly a prime dinner guest for a public venue.”

Eddie looks down to Casey again, still bouncing him back and forth. Casey fusses even still like that, pulling on Eddie’s sweater with strong, deceptively small hands, trying to chew on the soft fabric. “I didn’t know you were so frustrated being at home—”

“I’m not frustrated,” Richie cuts him off. Eddie shoots him a disbelieving look. “I’m _not._ I’m just telling you, he’s kind of a jerk right now, and who wouldn’t be? You know how much I hate going to the dentist, I—”

“Richie,” Eddie says, turning around in his hands. Richie cuts himself off, going silent as Eddie tips his head to catch Richie’s eye. “Hey. Talk to me, won’t you?”

“I _am_ talking to you,” Richie tells him. The two of them study each other, for a long moment, before Richie laughs and adds, “Eds, seriously, I just— I’m getting a little stir-crazy. I feel like I haven’t had a full conversation with a human adult in so _long,_ my brain’s going to start turning into oatmeal if it hasn’t already.”

Eddie studies him for a beat longer before he says, “Okay, well, then, how about this: let’s take him with us, but we can change our plans up a bit.”

“What’re you thinking?” Richie asks, already excited. He loves when Eddie comes up with an unexpected plan; they’re some of the most fun he’s ever had in his life, no change between when they were fourteen and now, now that they’re forty.

“When I was driving home tonight, you know, I cut through Central Park,” Eddie says. “I let the windows down, I thought the night was so nice outside. Maybe you and I can take a walk down there with him, I can pack something for him and I to eat, you can risk your life eating from one of the stands or trucks like you like—”

“Oh, Eds, music to my _ears,”_ Richie says, and Eddie laughs, his pink-flushed face lighting up.

“If you decide to poison yourself, that’s _your_ business,” Eddie says, so primly that Richie has to duck into him and wrap him up in his arms, tugging him in close. Casey’s trapped between their two chests but, miraculously, he doesn’t fuss at them. He _does,_ however, kick Richie directly between his lungs and make him wheeze.

“You can be a real jackass, you know that?” Richie tells Casey. All he gets is a giant grin in return, one that looks so much like Eddie’s that his heart actually catches in his throat. “Aw. Can’t stay mad at that, can I?”

“No, certainly not,” Eddie agrees. He pushes Richie away, separates them just enough that he can bring Casey’s face up level with his and kiss him on the cheek. He turns his face into Casey’s hair, inhaling deeply before sighing.

“Exactly how hungry are you, Eds?” Richie asks. Eddie huffs a laugh.

“I miss how he smells all day,” Eddie confesses into the crown of Casey’s head. “Sometimes I think maybe I should take off some time, for a while. Give you a break so you can maybe write some new material, get out of the house. I know how much you—”

“Eds, I’m happy here,” Richie cuts him off. Eddie _tsks_ at him.

“Let me finish,” Eddie admonishes him. “I know how much you love him, but I also know how much you love being around other people, Rich, and you’re going to lose your mind if you have to sit around here much longer.”

Richie doesn’t answer right away. It’s true, and they both know it is, but they also both agreed to the sacrifices they’d be making if they had a kid. Eddie decided he’d keep working and driving and Richie decided he’d be parenting at home until it was time for Casey to start school, and that was that. He doesn’t want to switch everything around on Eddie now. He didn’t want Eddie to think he couldn’t take it.

“I’m really okay with him,” Richie says. “It doesn’t have to be something you worry about. Don’t you worry about enough?”

“I’m always worried about you,” Eddie tells him. “I’m serious, though, sweetheart. I mean it. And it’s not just because of you, you know, I— I’ve been putting a lot of thought into this. Driving isn’t as easy anymore even with brake moved, you know that, and my back’s not the same after everything that happened. Driving isn’t so much an option anymore.”

“You didn’t tell me driving’s been bothering you,” Richie says. He can feel the frown on his face; it’s one of his least favorite feelings, but _still._ Eddie usually tells him these things.

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to force the change,” Eddie says. “If it was working well for you.”

“Well, I want what works but I’d _love_ if you didn’t twist your spine into a pretzel to try and make it work,” Richie comments. Eddie huffs another laugh. “So, what were you thinking, then? If not driving?”

“I was thinking I could just turn the office into my home office,” Eddie says. “The service is completely mine, I own the company. I see no reason why I can’t run all the logistics from home and schedule other drivers who aren’t myself. They can take over my usuals, and I can hire a couple new drivers to pick up fresh slots that would’ve been mine.”

“You sure you want to give that up?” Richie asks. “All I’ve got waiting for me is some bit parts in comedies, Eds. You serious about this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Eddie admits. Richie pulls Eddie into his side, rocking him to one side, then the other, just for a moment. Casey grabs for Richie’s shirt and misses. “Is this a yes?”

“Eds, if you’re serious, I think it’s a _stellar_ idea,” Richie tells him. He can feel Eddie’s face heating up when he kisses his cheek.

“Of course I’m serious,” Eddie says. “I told you, it’s been some time that I’ve been thinking about this. I think we went the wrong direction when he was born.”

“Well, you already had the company,” Richie says.

“I don’t have to give it up,” Eddie tells him. “I can handle all of it.”

 _Ah,_ Richie thinks, and kisses Eddie on the cheek, right above the knob of his jaw. “I know you can handle it, babe. Do _you_ know that?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Eddie’s lungs inflate and he says, “I do.”

 _“I_ do,” Richie says on instinct. Eddie laughs again. “I’m serious, though, Spaghetti Man.”

“You sure sound it, when you call me that.”

“C’mon, listen to me for a sec,” Richie says. Eddie goes quiet long enough for Richie to say, “I think if you wanna keep driving, you’ll keep being the best damn driver in New York state, if not the entire continental U.S.—”

 _“Richie,”_ Eddie says.

 _“Eddie,”_ Richie says back. “But I think that if you wanna be a big-shot CEO from your home office and raise our kid in your spare time, then you’re more than capable of being the best damn — uhh, the best damn _that,_ parent-slash-CEO, whatever that would be—”

“Richie, you’re losing focus on—”

 _“Right,_ right,” Richie says. “You’ll be the best one in the _world.”_

Eddie grins up at him, the same crinkled, joyful smile that Casey gets whenever he’s happy, too. It’s so goddamned charming to see it on both their faces, especially at the same time. Richie feels eternally grateful that Casey’s pretty much Eddie’s spitting image, if it wasn’t for the strawberry spill to his otherwise-blonde hair and the freckles spread across his face and his tiny shoulders. Richie crouches so he can stroke the pad of his thumb under Casey's bright eye.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Eddie asks. "You don't have to be."

"I really, _really_ am," Richie says, without hesitation. He's still looking down at Casey, though, and that gives him pause. He's spent the first seven months of the kid's life with him nearly every minute of the day. His instinct is to reject the idea, but he knows its fear and indecision that are fueling that. Impulse more than logic. He reminds himself that this is why there's two of them, why they decided to do this together. They balance each other out. It's important to realize when the balancing act is tipping a little bit and make a course correction.

"You're sure?" Eddie asks. Richie realizes how his contemplative silence must seem from the outside. He smiles at Casey, just for a moment, before straightening up to look back to Eddie.

"I'm sure," Richie promises him. "Sorry, I just got distracted for a second there thinking about how stupid in love with you I am."

 _"Richie,"_ Eddie admonishes him, pink face going red. Richie threads one hand up into Eddie's thick curls and tugs him closer; Eddie gasps sharply, twisting into his grip. Richie just grins and buries his face in Eddie's throat. He slides up to his cheek, nuzzling in there for a heartbeat before he sighs and twists in to kiss a mouthful of blonde hair.

"I don't need a food truck," Richie says. "I got my Eddie Spaghetti right here."

"You're ridiculous," Eddie says, so warmly that Richie has to pull back, _has_ to cup Eddie's face in his hands and kiss him for it. Casey pulls on Richie's shirt, managing to direct a button into his mouth.

"I'll get Case in some real clothes and shoes," Richie tells him. He carefully extracts his shirt from Casey's gums before lifting him up out of Eddie's hold. "You make us dinner, 'cause if I do it—"

"You'll burn the place down," Eddie finishes. Richie’s not much of a chef and never has been, but neither's Eddie. His only saving grace is that he's never caught the stove on fire, which Richie's done _twice_ since they moved in. By default, Eddie's been in charge of major mealtimes since then.

"Exactamundo," Richie says. He hoists Casey up to eye level so he can kiss him on the forehead before he does the same to Eddie, though Eddie's smacking kiss is far more dramatic. Eddie shoves him off and makes him go back down the hall, but he's smiling the whole way.

"You hear that, buckaroo?" Richie asks. Casey kicks at him, but Richie catches his ankle in his hand and brings him up to kiss his knee. He's rewarded with a laugh, and he grins, overflowing. Casey's quickly become his best and favorite audience, even if his sense of humor is wildly unpredictable and changes day to day. Getting him to smile and laugh makes Richie feel just as good as making Eddie smile and laugh. They've become his twin passions in life.

Down the hall, Richie hears the oven beeping. He holds Casey in one arm while he digs through his dresser for clothes warm enough to ward off the evening chill while they're out. Casey picks out his own pants by grabbing at random, and they're hideously green and don't match his sweater, but Richie's not one to squash his own son's creative choices. Eddie's always saying he wants Casey to feel more independent than he ever did, never mind that he can’t even walk yet.

Casey fights it, but Richie slips his boots on his feet and manages to tie them into place before he gets kicked in the jaw for his efforts. By the time Casey's dressed, at least, he's content with the change, and more than happy to go back up into Richie’s arms. Richie holds him back a bit, takes a moment to comb Casey's hair back from his forehead with his fingers, but it's futile; the curls spring back down the second he withdraws his hand.

"If only your grandmother wasn't such an insufferable hag," Richie sighs, wistful. "I'd love to ask her what she did with your dad's hair when he was little."

"Mm," Casey hums. Not a word, really, but Richie likes to think they're communicating a little bit.

"Exactly," Richie agrees. He sets Casey up against his shoulder and escorts him back out to Eddie in the kitchen, putting the last Tupperware containers into an overflowing knapsack.

Eddie lifts his head, catches sight of Casey, and snorts a laugh. "Oh, my— Oh, my _goodness."_

"He picked the pants himself, alright," Richie says defensively. "You said we should be supportive of his independence."

"He looks like a Picasso," Eddie comments. He leaves the bag on the kitchen counter to come and take Casey from Richie again. "Oh, honey. Don't inherit your father's style, he has absolutely no fashion sense."

"Next to you, Jill Goodacre would look like Sloth," Richie tells him. Eddie's face goes pink again. "You can change him, if he's too offensively dressed."

"No, no, you're right, it's important he makes these decisions for himself," Eddie says, far more seriously than Richie had. He appreciates it all the same. "I just hope this is a taught skill and not an inherent one. Maybe I still have time."

"You can still save him," Richie teases. Eddie smiles when Richie hooks his chin over his shoulder to kiss him. "Maybe we should have another. Give you a second chance, if this one doesn't work out."

 _"Richie,"_ Eddie admonishes. "He's working out just fine."

"Oh, well, then, never mind, I shouldn't have—"

"No!" Eddie exclaims. Richie grins as Eddie stammers out, "No, _no,_ I just meant—" Eddie exhales sharply, wise to Richie's teasing. When he looks up to Richie again, though, twisting to turn those big brown eyes on him, Richie feels all the wind get knocked out of him. "You mean that?"

"Of course I mean that," Richie says. "What part of _I want to have a thousand babies with you_ wasn't clear enough?"

"I thought you were just being randy with your vows to make me laugh," Eddie answers shakily. "I didn't think you meant that."

"When are you gonna get it that I always take you seriously?" Richie tells him.

"Even when you're not?" Eddie asks.

 _"Especially_ when I'm not," Richie says. He tugs Eddie in so Casey's pressed up between them again, his head resting on Eddie's shoulder as Richie cups Eddie's face to kiss him. "We _do_ have to do the wine and dine part before the sixty-nine part."

"I don't think the sixty-nine part will accomplish what you're angling for," Eddie points out, nudging Richie towards the knapsack. Richie gets the hint, slinging the strap over Eddie's shoulder for him.

"Can I try anyways?" Richie asks. He bites into the juncture of Eddie's throat and shoulder, and Eddie jumps, laughing, face flushing so deliciously red. Richie kisses the bruise he's marked there, partly for himself and partly for the sharp inhale it earns him from Eddie.

"You can certainly try," Eddie says breathless. "But it won't make us any babies."

"More's the pity," Richie replies. Casey whines, pulling on Eddie's sweater again before knocking his head into the underside of Eddie's jaw.

"Okay, okay, I hear you, honey," Eddie says. He cradles Casey in the crook of his arm and waits until Richie can slip the straps of Casey's carrier over his shoulders. Inexplicably, Casey's favorite mode of travel is strapped onto Richie, so they make a point to do it whenever they can. He fusses far less there than in the stroller they got for him, anyways.

"Alright, fork him over," Richie asks. Eddie hoists Casey up and, between the two of them, they manage to get him in, nice and snug. Eddie kisses Casey's round cheek once, then twice before pulling away. He does the same to Richie, two on each cheek.

"I think I prefer this," Eddie tells him. He pushes the bag back out of their way so he can step up close to Richie and Casey, cupping Richie's face in his hand. With the gentlest of pressure, he tips Richie's face down, stroking along his cheek in soft sweeps. "To just us, I mean. It's nice when it gets to just be us, but I like to be with the both of you. My whole family at once."

Richie's heart pounds. He's sure Eddie can feel it; Casey almost definitely can, tucked up so tight against his chest like this, but it doesn't seem to bother him. In fact, he sighs, turning his face closer in towards Richie.

"You're such a sap," Richie says, choked up. "It's just dinner."

"Right," Eddie says, wise to him. He stretches up, guiding Richie down into a firm, soft kiss. Richie's left breathless when they separate. He thinks they might just be feeling the same thing.

"I love you," Richie says, just 'cause he can. Eddie smiles so wide he repeats, "I really, _really_ love you."

"Well, good thing I really, _really_ love you, too," Eddie tells him. He cradles Richie's face in his hand for another kiss before Casey starts to protest again.

"Okay, if you don't feed one or both of us soon, we're gonna eat _you,"_ Richie tells Eddie. He earns himself a laugh in response as Eddie takes his hand and pulls them towards the door.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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